


ah, got no common sense

by zanykingmentality



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gay Pride, Idiots in Love, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, got that good Banter tm, so many meme references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanykingmentality/pseuds/zanykingmentality
Summary: Lovers is not strong enough a word for Aziraphale and Crowley.





	ah, got no common sense

**Author's Note:**

> title from "somebody to love" by queen, obviously
> 
> it's exam week so i'm spending all my time writing fic. unbeta-d as usual so please forgive any errors, enjoy!

Aziraphale and Crowley were not lovers. 

 

Lovers is a trite term, implying something fleeting, lasting only one lifetime. The truth is, Aziraphale and Crowley have lived through hundreds of human lifetimes, though at present each of theirs could be considered at least a third or fourth lifetime, having been granted new bodies in exchange for copious amounts of paperwork each time they destroyed one. A nasty bureaucracy, heaven was, and hell was not much better, just more pest-infested. Honestly, if bodies were so cheap to give out, why not just deal them like playing cards? It wasn’t as if the Almighty couldn’t  _ afford _ it. 

 

(Aziraphale could’ve easily listed off several bullshit reasons why this was impossible. Or, at least, he would’ve found some moral high ground to argue from.) 

 

Anyway, to say they were lovers would be only a half truth. 

 

Aziraphale and Crowley were more like this: a morning sat by the river, Aziraphale throwing chunks of bread into the water for ducks drifting lazily around. 

 

“Stop feeding them,” Crowley said. “They’ll get attached and never leave you alone. Soon you’ll have the geese on your tail, too.” 

 

“They’re hungry,” Aziraphale said indignantly. “It’s not a crime to feed birds.” 

 

“Bloody well should be,” Crowley griped. “Survival of the fittest.” 

 

“You’re horrible,” Aziraphale said, in that soft way that meant he really didn’t believe it all that much. 

 

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley groaned and threw his head back, careful not to let his sunglasses slip from his eyes. 

 

It was the seventh day of the rest of their lives, and Crowley was already aching for mischief. Aziraphale, however, was perfectly content in his newly resurrected bookshop, whittling away the time by poring over old texts. Crowley would sometimes drop in, an amusing attempt at simply bothering Aziraphale until he agreed to go for a walk down the street for lunch. It almost always worked.

 

They’d also made a habit of sitting by the river every week. Sometimes Crowley came more than once, only to find Aziraphale also walking over, the usual pep in his step — they’d lock eyes and Aziraphale would smile that awkward smile of his, and Crowley would frown that affectionate frown of his, and they’d sit in relative silence for the better part of an hour. 

 

On this particular day, Crowley was raging at his own head, upset by the catchiness of Queen’s “Somebody to Love.” At this point, it was just sad, really: the Bentley would play only Queen after a fortnight, and Crowley’s head would torment him with the same chords and lyrics on repeat when he  _ wasn’t _ driving.

 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, excitement glimmering over his pale face. “I’ve connected the two dots.” 

 

Snapping back to himself, Crowley took a moment to process Aziraphale’s words. Having no idea what the angel was referring to, Crowley said, “You haven’t connected shit.” 

 

“I’ve connected them,” Aziraphale insisted. “And I’ve decided we should wear rainbow.” 

 

Crowley knew exactly why on Earth they’d do that, so he said, “The colors are too gaudy. Don’t push me into your questionable fashion choices.” 

 

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted into what could only be described as a pout. “It was just a suggestion,” he said testily. 

 

It was this kind of banter that made Crowley think, he and Aziraphale were not  _ just _ lovers. No, in fact, they were not  _ just _ anything — there was no need to define something so… so… 

 

“Ineffable,” Aziraphale said. 

 

“What?” 

 

Aziraphale smiled knowingly and said, “You appeared to be thinking about something ineffable.” 

 

Crowley realized then that he, too, was not immune to ineffability. 

 

But… ineffable. Perhaps that was the word best used to describe their relationship. It was something that needed no word to describe it. Yes, Crowley knew he loved Aziraphale — even if the word made him want to choke over his own spit — capital-L Love, with all the very human dangers that came along with it. But Crowley and Aziraphale loved each other in a way that was very un-human: it was something one could only feel after having been on and off friends for millenia. It wanted for nothing but the shit-eating grin Crowley gave whenever Aziraphale frustratedly slammed the phone down, knowing the lines were down because of Crowley. Even if Crowley had no more need to pull mischief, and Aziraphale had no more need to perform miracles for humans, there was no denying that it spiced up living in the human world. 

 

“I suppose so,” Crowley said. “It’s all very unfortunate, ineffability.” 

 

“You might say that,” Aziraphale mused. Crowley looked over at him, eyes still hidden behind his shades. Aziraphale looked back, a tiny smile toying across his lips. This was exactly the kind of love one could only have for another with complete understanding of the ins and outs of heaven-hell neutrality. The kind of love only possible for another in the exact same boat. 

 

As if on impulse, Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed his lips swiftly against Crowley’s cheek. Crowley, immediately flustered, began babbling about who-knows-what, probably interesting clothing trends, all while “Somebody to Love” blared in the back of his head. 

 

And as hordes of people passed by waving multi-colored flags and sporting rainbow, Crowley memorized Aziraphale’s silhouette against the sun. 


End file.
